<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Lore and the Prophets by hes5thlazarus</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28483020">Lore and the Prophets</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hes5thlazarus/pseuds/hes5thlazarus'>hes5thlazarus</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: The Next Generation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Murder Mystery, Psychological Horror, cosmic horror</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:42:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,877</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28483020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hes5thlazarus/pseuds/hes5thlazarus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Lore thinks he can sneak off Deep Space Nine and get through the wormhole without anyone noticing. The Prophets have other ideas.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Data &amp; Lore &amp; Noonian Soong, Lore &amp; Julian Bashir, Lore &amp; The Prophets</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>To Boldly Gift: Fics 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Lore and the Prophets</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricsunrise/gifts">electricsunrise</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Lore is tasting Romulan ale at Quark’s bar, using Data’s credits. His brother comes in useful occasionally, though rarely. Around him buzzes a party. Apparently the station’s constabulary is celebrating all its new recruits. Lore is disinterested. Dr. Soong had programmed him with an appreciation of the finer tastes of life, and the way Romulan ale interacts with his organic mesh is pleasing to him. When he is disguised like Data he likes to think like him--not, of course, because he particularly admires the logical turns of his android mind, or because he misses feeling close to him. It’s method acting, as the Earth actors of the 21st century would claim. He swirls the bright blue beer in the snifter, enjoying the sensation of falling into an electric cloud, and ignores the chatter around him.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span> A vedek slides down next to him and signals to Quark to bring him his usual. His robes and hat are arranged to hide his face. Lore is slightly curious, but not enough to move to another table. He will leave soon--the freighter meant for the Bajoran colony on the other side of the wormhole is set to depart in two hours, with him and his grand plans with it. Dr. Soong might think his brother his greatest creation, but what Lore will wreak will be the best yet.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Then a man says, “Commander Data! It’s good to see you.” He curls his fingers around Lore’s shoulder and Lore turns mechanically to regard him, cursing to himself. He fixes his face in Data’s blank stare.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yes,” he says. He does not recognize the man in the Starfleet doctor’s uniform, but clearly Data would. The doctor smiles warmly.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh, Romulan ale,” he says. He slides onto the stool next him. “I suppose you’re running some sort of experiment.” He looks at him expectantly, still inanely grinning, and Lore rapidly thinks of an excuse. The doctor keeps staring at his feet. Why the fuck is he staring at his feet?</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He opens his mind and suddenly the circuits of his perfect positronic brain fizzled, and panicked at the malfunction Lore tries to get up as the Ferengi bartender says in an echoing voice, THE MACHINE.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The doctor, slackjawed, says, THE MACHINE HAS ANSWERED THE CALL. Lore starts in horror as the words echo in his  mind and almost falls off his perch. The Bajoran security officer behind him is suddenly in front of him, and he blinks, because Romulan ale is hypnotic, not hallucinogenic, this should not be happening, not when he set his organic processing system to separate out the suggestic effect--</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>THE MACHINE WILL KNOW, the Bajoran security officer intones. FOR THE SISKO THE MACHINE WILL KNOW.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>BAJOR IS OF THE PROPHETS, the Ferengi says: Quark. THE MACHINE WILL KNOW.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The doctor says, THE MACHINE WILL KEEP BAJOR FOR THE PROPHETS.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Lore says, “What the fuck is this?” His brain buzzes, he seizes again, and his vision goes dark as his body prioritizes life support over data processing systems.<br/>
</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Lore wakes up to the doctor and several security officers hovering over him anxiously, prone on the sticky floor of Quark’s bar, with the changeling constable barking orders to evacuate the place. He grabs the doctor. “What’s happening?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“There’s been a murder,” he says. “You’ve been poisoned too--Lore.” Lore spasms hard and collapses again to the ground, his eyes filling with a bright white light. When he wakes up, he is splayed on a biobed, despite his obvious synthetic parts. He tries to move, but finds himself stuck in a containment field: just his luck. His eyes swivel over to the controllers, where that doctor and a Trill regard him cautiously. The Trill straddles a chair, leaning on the headrest. Lore knows far too much of human biology and understands she would be considered quite attractive. The lankiness of the doctor is more his type, however, more easily manipulated, and while she looks at him warily the doctor has open curiosity on his face. Lore can use that.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Lore, I presume,” the doctor says. “Data’s...brother.” Lore twitches in annoyance. He was the better creation, he suffered more, he survived more--why does he always have to be defined by Data? They are nothing alike. They share the same neuro-synthetic make-up. That is it.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Dr. Soong’s murderer,” the Trill adds solemnly. She places her hand on the phaser at her belt. The doctor looks at her curiously. “An old drinking buddy of Curzon’s.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Lore sniffs. His father spent more time running about the galaxy than with him, and perhaps he wouldn’t have ended up so broken--perfect, he corrects himself, determined and justified and perfect--if Dr. Soong had bothered to stay with him, rather than plugging him into the computer. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Dax,” Lore says. “Can’t say he ever mentioned you.” He is lying, of course, but that’s his right.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“And I’m Bashir,” the doctor says. “Dr.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Julian</span>
  </em>
  <span> Bashir.” Dax rolls her eyes at him, a private joke. Lore feels a flash of envy. He wants to know everything, even the private things. Dax touches her combage while Bashir continues, “You gave us quite a surprise, Lore. We’d been given an alert that you might be heading to the Gamma Quadrant, but we didn’t think you’d show up at Quark’s bar! The Romulan ale--how did it interact with your positronic brain? I don’t think that’s what caused you to black out, but--”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Do you mind?” Lore interrupts. “Are you arresting me or experimenting on me?” He tests the biobed’s confinements again. Dax points her phaser at him. Lore chuckles. “Really, Dax? May I call you Dax? What can I even do to you from here?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The door to the medbay opens and the goo constable and station captain walk in, phasers drawn: Odo, and Cpt. Benjamin Sisko, according to the database he hacked before piloting to the station.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Well, well,” Odo says, “a fugitive. And one who crashed a party of cops, while drinking illegally-imported ale. You can’t make this up.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Lore is a bit embarrassed. “It’s only illegal to Starfleet personnel,” he snarks. “And I am not my brother.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Odo snorts in response. Sisko eyes him, amused, then turns to Lore. “When you were...incapacitated,” he doesn’t want to use the word </span>
  <em>
    <span>unconscious</span>
  </em>
  <span> for a machine, “you muttered something about a vision. Explain.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh,” Lore says, “we’ve decided on a genre. So now this is an interrogation, not an experiment.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“We can still vivisect you,” Odo says.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“No, we can’t,” Bashir says testily. Sisko raises his hands slightly, to quiet them all down. They all look at him. Dax has not dropped her phaser, not once. Lore decides it’s in his best interests to cooperate.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“If you must know,” he says, “I don’t know what happened either. I was just biding my time til I could head through the wormhole, where my vision went--blurry, and everyone started speaking as if they were..echoing within the circuits of my mind. They called me the ‘Machine’--they said I will know that Bajor is the Prophets--your wormhole aliens, aren’t they?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Sisko blinks slowly like a snake, taking him in. Lore keeps his gaze steady. He feels if he makes any sudden movements, Sisko will strike, precise and deadly. He is even more carefully controlled than Picard, and smoother. Lore can’t help but admire it. Then Sisko blinks. He stares into the distance, and suddenly shakes his head and refocuses.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Fascinating,” Sisko purrs. “A vedek is murdered while the Prophets tell you to keep Bajor theirs. A </span>
  <em>
    <span>likely</span>
  </em>
  <span> story. A likeable one.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Noonian was always a charmer,” Dax says. “Well, he knew how to get you off his back.” Is that a hint of bitterness Lore detects? History he will never know: Dr. Soong burned his diaries when he realized Lore knew his code.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Since you claim the Prophets want to use you,” Sisko says, “let us see what use the Prophets have for you. Odo, Bashir--let him out of his clamps. You may </span>
  <em>
    <span>investigate</span>
  </em>
  <span> the vedek’s murder. Chief O’Brien has programmed the station’s database to keep you well restrained within its borders. Odo, Dr. Bashir--I want you two to use him. Find what poison they used, cross-reference whatever Starfleet database Lore has compiled--and find who did it.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“And then what?” Lore asks.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Sisko smiles. “And then,” he says, “the Prophets will know what to do to you.”<br/>
</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>They release him from his clamps but keep the containment field but in the medbay. Dax and Sisko leave, Dax never letting her back be exposed, and Bashir clears his throat when the door clicks shut. He begins to explain the poison--a distillation of expired moba fruit cut with smoke, a popular amphetamine amongst the former Bajoran resistance. Odo nods along thoughtfully but Lore is bored. It is clear this has to do with some petty regional squabble. One faction wanted another out, and Bajor’s resident would-be gods decided to intervene. It is odd that they have made him their tool, but Lore cannot blame them. He is brilliant, after all, and has a good reputation amongst the more eldritch species of the galaxy. The Q Continuum and the Crystalline Entity gave him rave reviews.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>When Bashir is finally done, Lore speaks before Odo can reform vocal cords. “So. What priesthood and caste is he? Have you done your report?” He raises an eyebrow at Odo. “No, of course not. Well, plug me in. Give me his name and twelve seconds and I can tell you everything about him, including what he ate for dinner last night.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Bashir looks at him wryly, rapping his PADD with knuckles. “Simple fare--he is part of the late Vedek Bareil’s order. Rice and a touch of salt. The drink was a surprise.” Lore is confused. He doesn’t know what he is talking about.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Odo crosses his arms and smiles thinly. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Also</span>
  </em>
  <span> Romulan ale, which a simple vedek could not afford, let along drink in public. A vintage Quark was told to lay aside, by a certain Tahna Los a few years ago.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Lore is irritated. “If you’re going to withhold information, I’m going to complain to the captain. He wants me here for a reason. You may as well use my processing capabilities, or be done with me now, and hand me over to Starfleet.” Bashir and Odo exchange a glance, and Odo scoffs.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Believe me,” he says, “there is nothing I would like more. But the captain is as good as his word. We are going to see what the wormhole aliens want with you. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>then</span>
  </em>
  <span> we’ll hand you over to Starfleet.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“So glad I’ve excited such intellectual curiosity in you,” Lore snorts. “Put please--give me the information and let’s be done with it. I don’t like being used, you know. I want to know what they’re doing with me as much as you do.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Odo regards him. “Hm. You do know Captain Sisko drove the Q Continuum off the station, right? We don’t...tolerate horrors coming out of space at Deep Space Nine. And every starbase has been outfitted with the graviton resonance to shatter one of those crystal creatures.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Right,” Lore says. “Because there’s only room for one ‘horror out of space’ on this station.” Bashir coughs a laugh into his hand, and coughs harder at the look Odo gives him. Proverbial dick-measuring done, the three set to work. Odo accesses the constabulary's databases from Bashir’s desk, and after carefully adjusting the security parameters, allows Lore to begin analysis of his files regarding Tahna Los, the unfortunate vedek, Bareil’s order, and Bajoran religious factionalism. Lore could easily hack into the rest of the databases, and he zips the files and stores them to chew over when he’s finally out of the Alpha Quadrant. He blinks rapidly as he realizes that this vedek and Tahna Los share an arrest record. Both were taken into custody by Cardassian nine years ago, with two people who work with station security.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He says aloud, for the fleshier folk in the room, “Kira Nerys, Tahna Los, our unfortunate vedek, and one of your very own officers were arrested together, Constable. Perhaps you should screen your recruits more thoroughly.” He mimics Data in his deadpan delivery. Odo is unamused. Everyone’s a critic.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“That doesn’t mean anything,” Odo says. “Kira shares an arrest record with half of Bajor. And most of my officers were...detained by Cardassians, at one time or another.” He looks a little uncomfortable. Collaboration always is--he arrested a few of them. Lore smiles slowly. He has learned many useful things from these files, more than the constable will ever know.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“So let’s talk to Kira,” Bashir says eagerly.<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They ping Kira, and Lore has to admit he’s curious as to what she’s going to say. She is fascinating. It takes a certain kind of person to go from terrorism to Starfleet-adjacent bureaucracy, and Lore wants to know exactly what that is. He knows he could do it, he has taken his survival matrix and run with it, and of course that is why the Prophets chose him for whatever little mission they have. It’s flattering to be in the center of the storm. It is exactly what he deserves, and he is curious to see what this kindred spirit is like.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Major Kira glances at him curiously but without the hostility that characterized Dax or the interest Bashir showed. She looks tired. The vedek must’ve been a friend of hers, or at least a comrade. Lore doesn’t understand that relationship, nothing he has read or experienced has explained friendship beyond desire, but he knows she must feel upset. If only he cared.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yes?” Kira says guardedly. “You called?” She glances at the body on the table, bites her lip, and looks away. “You don’t think it was the Cardassians, do you? I need an answer to give the provisional government. And if Bareil’s order, of all things, has been infiltrated, we need to start preparing. I’ve lost enough of my comrades to them.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Odo and Bashir exchange a glance, concerned. Lore, again, does not care--but he registers this is a vulnerability he can exploit. Bashir says slowly, “He was poisoned, Major. With a drink that Tahna Los sent him. And the only connection he has to Tahna Los is--well, you.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Kira regards the body. “The Kohn-Ma has long been disbanded. And Tahna Los is held at a monastery in the Rakantha monastery, being rehabilitated for civilian life. He wouldn’t have had access to even a data PADD. It’s the Shakaar cell who guards them, and they’re no friend to the Kohn-Ma. Not anymore.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You’ve said that before,” Odo says. “And you were wrong.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Are you accusing me of lying?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“No. Just that your sources might be.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Kira glares at the constable, and Bashir makes a face at Lore. Lore raises an eyebrow. Bashir hides a smile.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Gentlemen,” Bashir interrupts. He gestures at the body. “If we may get back to the matter at hand.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Sometime before it finishes decomposing,” Lore drawls.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Bashir’s mouth twitches into a smile. “Quite. Now, we know the Prophets are worried about a threat to their connection to Bajor--the wormhole, presumably, we’ve been through this before. We have a dead body, killed by a drink sent by a known member of the Kohn-Ma--separatists. And we know this man was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but a member of the late Vedek Bareil’s secularist order. Now, I’ll willing to bank on the hunch that Tahna Los was framed--but the question is, does this represent a Kohn-Ma resurgence? Who killed him, and why?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Lore says, “Two of your new recruits were arrested with Tahna Los and this...unfortunate.” He regards the corpse with some distaste. At least he will never truly die.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Odo straightens abruptly. “I vetted those men myself--” and then the station shakes, and while Lore simply adjusts the mechanical gravitational sense of his body, the fleshier ones stumble. Odo’s combadge chimes. He presses it. Lore cocks his head, curious. Does he pin it to his flesh? Does a changeling have flesh? Can he feel?</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Sisko’s voice rings out. “Constable, you’d better get to Ops. Bring Lore. A bomb went off in my office.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>In Sisko’s office, one of Odo’s new recruits is running a tricorder over the explosive powder left over from the bomb. Papers are strewn everywhere, and the desk is in splinters. Sisko turns from the window as the wormhole opens and frowns when he sees them, palming a baseball. Lore quickly analyzes the new recruit’s face: it’s one of them that was arrested with the homicide victim and Tahna Los himself. He smiles quietly to himself. Their security is truly incompetent, if they let any old Bajoran resistance fighter in. It’s embarrassing they caught him at all. Then again, it’s hard to disguise himself when he has his brother’s face. He scowls to himself, annoyed. He came first: when his brother took his face.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Sisko nods at Odo, who quietly sets a containment field behind him. Lore realizes they know. Perhaps they are cleverer than they look. Even a stopped clock hits on something right twice a day--something Dr. Soong would tell him. Sisko says, “Report.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Odo cannot hide his own smugness. “We have reason to believe,” he says stiffly. Lore quirks his head. Fascinating how even a shapeshifter cannot keep his emotions from working its way to his face: expression truly is a learned behavior, Lore thinks. Odo continues, “We have reason to believe that we have been infiltrated by rogue members of the Kohn-Ma sect, who are striking against resistance fighters who have taken a more moderate position since Bajor’s liberation.” Behind Odo, Bashir puts his hand on his phaser. Lore is amused to see that it is set to stun. The recruit stiffens, but continues to analyze the bomb sample. His hands are shaking.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Really?” Sisko says. “A threat that concerns even the Prophets, who don’t want their connection to Bajor severed. I suppose that makes sense. Recruit, do you have anything to say?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The recruit turns slowly. “Is there any point?” he says. “When even the Prophets are against you.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Sisko says gently, “Not against you. For Bajor. By any means necessary.” He looks at Lore. “Even using a machine.” Sisko nods at Odo, who puts his hand on the recruit’s shoulder and helps him up. He leads him from Sisko’s office and into the turbolift, solemn-faced.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“What will happen to him?” Bashir asks.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Sisko sighs. “He killed a vedek. You’re better off asking the Major about the limits of Bajoran jurisprudence when it comes to old comrades. But doubtless he will not be getting the same treatment as Tahna Los. And we will need to monitor where he is sent, to make sure the monastery is not being used as a hotbed of radicalization.” Bashir frowns. Sisko turns to Lore. “And now for you, our resident fugitive.” He smiles thinly, and Lore steps back. The containment field is still up. He realizes he’s been tricked--it was not just for the bomber, but for him as well. With newfound respect, he gazes steadily at Sisko. This team is nothing like Data’s crew. They are much, much trickier.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh, I hope I won’t be staying long enough to be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>resident</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Lore says, trying to play it cool. “There’s a whole galaxy to see, on the other side of the wormhole. And, well, the Prophets have taken an interest in me. Why don’t you toss me at the Dominion and see what happens?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Sisko is unamused but Bashir snorts. “No,” Sisko says, “I think not. You see, I was sent a top-secret message by Starfleet Command an hour ago--alpha alpha black gamma clearance. A certain secretive department wants you, Lore.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Section 31,” Bashir says out loud. Lore is unmoved. He has never heard of them.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Sisko continues, “And I don’t want them to have you. If you’re so despicable to make an alliance with the Borg,” his eyes flash, and Lore is chilled, “then I don’t want to see what Section 31 will twist you into. I believe in the Federation.” Those words sound hollow, even to Lore. “I believe in Bajor, and I trust the Prophets. I’m sending you through the wormhole, Lore. For the Federation’s good and the good of Bajor. Right to the colonies on New Bajor, where the electromagnetic net in the atmosphere is set to make androids such as yourself move a bit more slowly. And certainly too slowly to be successful in any escape attempt. May this time in contemplation be good for you, Lore. And better than the Borg.” He smiles grimly, and turns away from them to regard the wormhole once more. “Dismissed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lore is terrified. Bashir stings him with a hypospray that makes his movement malleable and leads him into the turbolift and towards the docks. He tries to work his mouth, but nothing comes out. Bashir himself is stony-faced. He doesn’t approve, but he follows orders. Lore curses himself, he should have realized that Captain Sisko of all people is not to be trifled with, the man lost his wife to the Borg, of course he wouldn’t be able to work out a deal. He’s heard so many stories of people who have managed to bargain with the station’s crew, he thought that he out of all people would be able to come up with a deal. The turbolift stops and the doors chime open, and Bashir pushes him forward gently, hand at his neck, another prodding a phaser into his back. Lore wonders if it is set to kill.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He stammers, “D-don’t--” as they march to the runabout. Bashir opens the door and regards him sadly.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You are magnificent, do you know that?” he says. “A truly human android. Even more than your brother. Fully flawed, emotive, angry. So you deserve a chance.” He walks him into the cabin and straps him into the pilot’s chair of the runabout. “I hope you take this one. It’ll be the last you get, but who’s to say it’s better than you deserve?” Bashir turns the runabout on and activates the autopilot. “Good luck, Lore. And godspeed. I hope you find what you need on New Bajor. Slowing down a fast-paced mind--” He exhales sharply. “Well.” He smiles. “I was genetically augmented, you know. Using a procedure based on Dr. Soong’s experiments. So I think I understand a bit how your mind works, and how it can go--not wrong, but how it is hard. Perhaps this will be good for you.” He pats him on the shoulder. “It’s better than Section 31, at least. Good luck.”</span>
  <span></span><br/>
<span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The runabout leaves and Lore is left in the lurch as the stars spin away and the wormhole opens to swallow him, leaving the Alpha Quadrant far behind, and he cannot move as his mind slows in the odd electric silence. He wishes, he wishes, he wishes--and then time slows and he can only contemplate as a spectre taking the shape of his father looks at him and says, THE MACHINE IS OF BAJOR. THE MACHINE KNOWS.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>